


No Matter What the End is, My Life Began with You

by anisstaranise



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New York
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Smythe and Quinn Fabray are both from New York’s oldest and wealthiest families who only see them as prized possessions that they could trade in for more power and wealth with other successful, business-minded families.</p>
<p>Then, meeting a cocktail server and a busker changes their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Matter What the End is, My Life Began with You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my interpretation of the **Seblaine Sunday Prompt** : _Arranged Marriage_.
> 
> Title taken from [Boyzone's No Matter What](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7eul_Vt6SZY)
> 
> Always and forever grateful to my dearest bb, [Dee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity) . Thank you, for everything.

The smoke gracefully curls in the air as Quinn Fabray lets it escape sensuously from her lips. She sighs in contentment, stretching over the sheets rumpled with sex and dreams, basking in the afterglow.

A figure drapes a strong arm over her bare stomach and she giggles at the kisses being peppered from her shoulders to her ears. She stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table and turns to face a mess of golden blond and striking blue eyes.

An intense euphoria spills from her heart and flows through her veins until all she feels is the warmth and tenderness for this man she now calls her husband. She reaches out her left hand to gently caress Sam Evans’ face, the gold band on her finger glinting in the moonlight.

“Any regrets?” Sam asks as he kisses her palm.

“None,” she answers with vehement certainty.

“How can you be so sure?” Sam questions and she sees the fear and doubt swimming in his eyes. She knows all too well of his insecurities; “ _You’re too good for me, Quinn Fabray”,_ she’s heard him say time and again.

She pushes herself on top of Sam and pins him down lovingly as she crashes her lips on his hungrily, determined for him to know that this is the life she chooses; a life with him.

“I love you, Sam,” she breathes when they break apart. “I choose you. Always you.”

The smile that breaks on Sam’s face is wide and blinding; it exudes love and warmth- and she knows it’s all for her.

Sam cranes his neck to latch his lips on her cheekbone, down to her jawline, further down her neck, nuzzling the soft flesh of her breasts. Her eyes flutter close as she feels the burn of desire crawling up her spine, prickling at her skin. She grabs a handful of his hair to pull Sam away from her skin only to latch her mouth on his seconds later. In the moment between kisses, she feels pieces of herself falling into place. It’s familiar now after all this time, this feeling of being pieced whole- she is happy, happier than she has ever been.

They sink back down onto the mattress together as Sam rolls them over. He hovers over her, that bright, wide smile still etched on his kiss-swollen lips.

“We’ll be alright, won’t we?” Sam asks, his insecurities of this life they’ve chosen bleeding through once again.

She understands his apprehension; they are from different backgrounds. More accurately, they are from different worlds; she’s an aristocrat carrying the name of family whose history traced back to the fore fathers of the city and he’s a bright-eyed Midwestern boy busking through life with his trusty guitar and the songs in his heart.

“I don’t know what kind of life I can give you, Quinn?” Sam bellowed exasperatedly one night during the spring of their relationship. “Surely not the one Clarington can.”

“I love you, Sam. A life with you is all I want,” she assured him, desperation bleeding in her voice- pleading that he’ll believe her this time. She doesn’t want to marry Hunter Clarington. She was done being a pawn to advance her family’s empire, a piece of contract to marry off to the highest bidder. “No one can give me that but you. I choose you. Always you.”

She smiles at the memory. They have come so far since then; she is stronger now and she believes she is braver than the girl who was willing to be betrothed to someone she didn’t love just to uphold the integrity of her name, the girl who believed that her family’s honour was more important than her- her life, her happiness.

Once upon a time, she would have married Hunter Clarington at a drop of her hat. The Clarington name was as old as the Fabrays and just as powerful. She would live a life so comfortable and would want for nothing. But she knows in her heart of hearts she would be miserable; because she belongs with Sam.

Then, one event changed her life and the way she looked at the world. She draws that memory out from her mind- of her best friend defying everything and following his heart instead. Cut off from the family, from the privileges that came with his name, she witnessed how he built a new life- a life entirely his own.

She cradles her husband’s face, determined to silence his insecurities once and for all and she beams, “Let me tell you the story of Sebastian Smythe and Blaine Anderson.”

\---

The music from the string quartet in the corner of the ballroom rose above the tinkling of champagne glasses and dancing feet on the hardwood floor. Sebastian mingled expertly amongst his parents’ peers; making the right kind of small talk- shifting from the weather to politics. He wore his practiced stage smile every time he was coerced into attending another one of his family’s events of parading their altruism.

In truth, Sebastian loathed these events; his family- the Smythes, one of New York’s oldest and wealthiest families- always had an ulterior motive with these charity balls. They were always looking to move their status up the social ladder; securing power through business and merging with other successful, business-minded families.

Tonight, the Smythes organized a silent auction under the pretence of raising cancer awareness but Sebastian knew that it was the Smythes’ way of impressing the Motta family.

The Motta family were the moguls of the advertising world, whose influences and connections stretched far and wide and beyond New York City- something the Smythes, or at least Sebastian’s father, were eager to be a part of.

Sebastian didn’t hold the Mottas in the highest of regards. He saw right through them; they were a bunch of narcissistic egomaniacs with a power-leeching agenda. They mirrored the Smythes perfectly. He supposed this mirrored trait was the reason that he was betrothed to the heir of the Motta empire- their daughter, Sugar.

Sugar Motta was, to Sebastian’s surprise, an unassuming character. She was sweet and aloof yet ambitious, but she was also obedient to a fault. He could tell she wasn’t thrilled with the betrothal either, but he knew she would never speak against it.

Just as he would never speak against it.

In a way, Sebastian and Sugar were kindred spirits; born into families who mostly saw them as pawns to help them advance in the modern-day financial and social aristocracy, mere business contracts to marry off. They were both groomed from a young age to believe this was their purpose; their destiny. To go against their predestined roles meant to dishonour their family name.

Sebastian had rebelled against the family in his teenage years; he dabbled in drugs (although only those organic in nature) and had his first taste of tequila at fourteen. But no matter how many times he was caught doing something that vexed his family, they never punished him- they just swept it under the proverbial rug and buried any disciplinary actions his school threatened with under a pile of money disguised as ‘a generous donation’ for a new library wing or computer lab.

If there was one good thing to come out of his rebellious teenage years, it was that Sebastian made an important self-discovery. After experimenting with sex (with both girls and boys), he realized he was very much attracted to boys. It was a realization that made him understand what it meant to be his own person, something his family couldn’t control or touch; he was gay, and he was unashamed.

But like everything else, his family swept that fact under the rug, too.

Sebastian was in the midst of a conversation with his long-time best friend Quinn Fabray when he saw a head of dark curls pass by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres balanced skilfully on his palm. The curls belonged to a gorgeous man; olive-kissed skin, dazzling hazel eyes and a backside that made Sebastian whimper in appreciation as his eyes raked over it. This man was way too attractive to be a server at a pretentious banquet, he thought. He saw Quinn roll her eyes as his eyes followed the curly-haired server across the room. Before he could excuse himself, Quinn quipped, “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Tearing his eyes away from the server, Sebastian slipped on a genuine smile and leaned in to kiss her temple before stalking away.

If there was anyone who knew Sebastian inside and out and loved him nonetheless, it was Quinn Fabray. The daughter of parents who were both powerful members of the senate, Quinn was tenaciously driven and fiercely loyal- especially to Sebastian. But much like the Smythes, the Fabrays only saw their daughter as a prized possession that they could trade in for more power and wealth one day. And like Sebastian, Quinn, too, was betrothed to someone who could help her family advance up the social ladder.

And if there was one reason for Sebastian to repeatedly attend these mind-numbing, pseudo-charity events, it was to pick up gorgeous men to bring home and have his way with. His family might turn a blind eye and wish they could forget (or wish Sebastian would forget) that he was gay by arranging his pending marriage to a _woman_ , but that wasn’t going to stop him from seeking out sexual gratification from those men- even just for a night.

Once his green eyes spotted the head of curls making its way around the room, Sebastian strode towards it purposefully. The curly-haired server turned just as he slowed to a stop a few paces away.

“Hors d’oeuvres?” the curly-haired waiter asked, offering a tray of assorted bruschetta and canapés.

Sebastian smirked at the sound of the other man’s voice; the rich cadence of it made his mind wonder what it’d be like to have that voice moan his name, begging for more.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing serving affluent pissants in a place like this?” Sebastian flirted, picking up an hors d’oeuvre and eating it as seductively as he can manage. His gaze never left the server’s and was satisfied that his actions were affecting the other man. A bright red blush appeared on the server’s cheeks as he started to stammer a response but failed to come up with anything coherent.

“You got a name?” Sebastian asked, putting a hand in the pocket of his dress pants as he waited for the server to look at him; and this point, the other man’s blush had gotten darker and he was looking everywhere but at Sebastian.

Something deflated inside Sebastian, the thrill of a conquest dissipating- this curly-haired server was shy. He was used to his advances being met with pupil-blown, lustful responses- never shy and stammering. He was about to change his mind and leave the bashful server’s side when the other man spoke up:

“Blaine,” the curly-haired server chimed, peering up at Sebastian through his long-lashes.

Sebastian was taken aback by how endearing Blaine’s shyness was in that moment. Yes, he might have preferred someone more outgoing than shy to spend a passionate tryst with- he’d prefer someone who wasn’t afraid to go out of their way to please _him_ , but he felt up to a challenge. Always a first time for everything, he thought. Besides, there was a burn within that was begging to be sated. Shy or not, Blaine would have to do.

As the event came to a close, he found himself somewhere in a shoebox apartment in the Meatpacking District, stumbling into bed with his lips hungrily attached to Blaine’s, Sebastian mentally braced himself for a long, tedious night where _he_ had to do all the work.

He was wrong.

Sebastian made a mental note to never judge another person’s sexual prowess based on their reaction to his flirtations, because Blaine might have blushed and stammered at his advances but in bed, he was anything but shy.

Blaine knew exactly how to touch Sebastian until his skin thrummed with pleasure. He knew just how to drag his tongue down his length until he shivered with rapture. Blaine never held back; he gave as much as he expected to receive and he was _extremely_ vocal. He moaned and whimpered deliciously throughout and the breathless way Sebastian’s name tumbled out of Blaine’s luscious lips drove him mad with desire.

When they both cried out from the ecstasy of their climax, Sebastian found himself immensely satisfied. He had easy fucks and hook ups in the past, but nothing that ever left him feeling quite like this; he was... content. Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time a man gave him a screaming orgasm.

It was a great night, and Sebastian realized that he was reluctant to leave; stalling any exit with lazy kisses to Blaine’s lips, his neck, his chest. It helped that Blaine didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to be rid of him, too- fondly tracing his fingers over the knobs of Sebastian’s spine.

“I was serious about what I asked,” Sebastian muttered sleepily.

Blaine tilted his head up from where he was resting his head on Sebastian’s chest and hummed his inquiry.

“What’s someone as gorgeous as you doing serving cocktails and champagne to a room full of toffs?” Sebastian asked again.

Blaine chuckled as he shifted to his side, propping himself up by the elbow. Not for the first time that night, Sebastian found himself absolutely taken by sight of Blaine; the glint in his hazel eyes, the alluring contours of his cheekbones and jawline, the lushness of his lips. “Toffs? My my, aren’t we properly British,” Blaine teased.

“Shut up,” Sebastian barked playfully, smacking at Blaine’s shoulder. “I spent my college years in Oxford. Some of the Britishness was bound to stick.”

And that was the ease of their conversations; they confided hopes and dreams so openly as if they had known each other a lifetime, they teased and laughed at every interval.

That night, Sebastian broke one of his own rules:

He spent the night with someone who was meant to be a one-night-stand.

Then he did it again the following night.

And the next night.

And the night after that.

 

\---

 

The sky above New York City was a canvas of rich azure with puffy snow-white clouds scattered across it. It was a great day for a social gathering out on the penthouse patio; Sunday brunch at the Claringtons- the social event marked on the calendars of every who’s who of the Upper East Side.

Sebastian, donned in a pristine suit much too lavish for brunch (because Sebastian Smythe never did anything half-heartedly), accompanied Sugar to the Claringtons out of duty; any public event hosted by the elites of the Upper East Side, Sebastian and Sugar were _expected_ to attend together.

As he nursed his Virgin Mary from the tall, cool glass, he begrudgingly listened to Sugar carry on a rather one-sided conversation about the different types of cheeses being served. It was then that their mothers joined them.

“Enjoying yourselves, darlings?” his mother asked, sounding quite pleased as her eyes travelled from Sebastian to Sugar.

Before either of them could answer, the Motta matriarch pulled Sebastian into a hug.

“You look dashing as always, Sebastian,” Mrs. Motta said as she released Sebastian from the bone-crushing hug.

Sebastian had a feeling that Mrs. Motta was still happily bewildered that her daughter was betrothed to a Smythe. He had overheard enough condescending conversations between the mother and daughter to surmise that Mrs. Motta didn’t think very highly of Sugar, be it her looks or her personality. He felt bad for Sugar because she was smart and witty; it was a pity her mother didn’t deem them as admirable qualities. It was those traits, in Sebastian’s opinion, that soften the blow of being engaged to someone who was practically a stranger.

“I can’t help but notice you’ve been smiling so much lately,” Mrs. Motta assessed as she threw a pleased grin at Sugar. “My daughter must finally be doing something right.”

Sebastian saw Sugar flinch at her mother’s words. He knew all too well what it felt like to be castigated by a parent- and to have it done in the presence of others. A sudden sense of protectiveness engulfed him- it was new and foreign; Sebastian Smythe usually didn’t care about others. It took too much effort, he once thought. But these past few weeks, he felt a shift inside him, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. And this newfound compassion wouldn’t allow him to stand idly by while Sugar was berated.

“Sugar makes for great company- it’s hard not to smile,” Sebastian began diplomatically. “She’s delightfully quick-witted and I do enjoy having _intellectual_ debates with her. I mean, I know it’s different from all the conversations on the selections of linen for an upcoming soiree _you’re_ used to but... ,” he trailed off with a shrug and chuckled humourlessly.

Next to him, Sebastian heard Sugar’s sharp intake of breath then she let out a sound like she was trying to choke down a laugh. He held the Motta matriarch’s gaze, hoping for a fight but Mrs. Motta just looked bored and impassive. Sugar definitely didn’t inherit her nous from her mother who clearly had none, Sebastian thought.

“Well, isn’t that delightful,” Sebastian’s mother chirped. “ _Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women.”_

It took every ounce of his will power to hold back an eye-roll as the Smythe matriarch cited a line from Tolstoy’s _War and Peace._ It was a habit of his mother’s to flaunt her vast knowledge of literature; to show off her education in hopes of impressing others. Her abilities to quote lines and phrases from literary classics would be awe-inspiring if Sebastian didn’t know the truth:

His mother lived in a fantasy, built and scaffolded by words of dead authors and their imagined characters.

Growing up, Sebastian learned that his mother romanticized the world she lived in; from the feelings she wished she had for her husband- the way Hester felt about Gerald in Oscar Wilde’s _A Woman of No Importance,_ to her indifferent husband who she wished adored her- like the affections of Captain Wentworth had for Anne Eliot in _Persuasion_. She constructed this whole other life in her mind.

His parents’ marriage was a product of an arrangement to advance their families social and financial statuses, too, so if his mother found a way to _happily_ live a life she hadn’t quite hoped for, who was he to judge? Besides, wasn’t that exactly what he was doing by satisfying his libido in the dark rooms of clubs with the many faceless men?

Only, lately, it hadn’t been ‘faceless men’. It hadn’t even been ‘men’. For the past four weeks, it was only Blaine.

“Come now, Giulia,” came his mother’s silky voice, snapping him out of his stupor. “-let’s leave these lovebirds alone.” His mother linked her arms with Giulia Motta’s and they steered away from Sebastian and Sugar.

Sebastian was only half aware that he was watching his mother walk away- dazed by his thoughts of Blaine as a smile broke on his lips out of its own volition.

“My mother’s right, you know,” Sugar admitted quietly.

“Hmm?” Sebastian hummed in question as he tore his eyes away from his mother’s form that had disappeared into the crowd to look down at Sugar.

“You’ve been smiling a lot lately. Like, really happy-smiling,” she added.

“Contrary to popular belief, I _do_ smile,” Sebastian said smarmily, but it was a teasing tone.

“But never like this. At least, for as long as I’ve known you- since this engagement-,” Sugar muttered, the bitterness hanging over the word ‘engagement’, “- I’ve never seen it.”

Sebastian turned her words over in his mind; what does it mean?

Moments passed in silence between them; Sebastian went back to sipping his Virgin Mary and he saw Sugar take in the sights of the New York skylines.

“Must be nice to have someone to love like that,” Sugar blurted after awhile, breaking the silence that draped over them. “And judging from your smiles- you are loved right back,” she continued.

Before he could stop it, a cascade of memories played in Sebastian’s mind; Blaine’s laugh, Blaine’s smile, Blaine’s touches, Blaine’s coffee preference- everything was Blaine and everything felt... right.

“Must be nice,” Sugar repeated quietly, rather sadly.

\---

Quinn sighs as she stands by Hunter, who is going on and on about a business merger he helped complete. She fiddles with the engagement ring on her finger- a Clarington family heirloom that once belonged to Hunter’s great-grandmother, and feels it weigh her down.

She accepts the fact that her family has chosen Hunter Clarington to be her husband- or did the Claringtons choose her, she doesn’t know- but she did still hope that maybe, just maybe- she and Hunter could find themselves falling in love.

At the rate that things are going- constantly being ignored by Hunter- falling in love with him seems like wishful thinking. Quinn hates the idea of being in a loveless marriage, like her parents, but she does hate the idea of disappointing her family more.

A tall figure moves suavely through the crowd and she catches a pair of green eyes. With a sigh of relief, she excuses herself from Hunter’s side (who is still raving on about the business merger) and makes her way to her best friend.

“Thank God you’re here. I’m pretty sure I would’ve drowned from all that ego if I stayed a minute longer,” Quinn exhales happily.

Sebastian chuckles and pulls her into a hug. When Quinn withdraws from the much-needed hug, she sees something different about Sebastian, something foreign.

She studies the face of the man she’s known since they were three years old. When it clicks, her chest tightens and her stomach drops; Sebastian is _happy_.

“You look cheery today,” Quinn states, consciously willing her brain to avoid the word happy.

Sebastian smiles, and Quinn notes that it is shy- something new in her best friend’s repertoire. He shifts his weight like he always does when he was about to say something important, but his phone chimes somewhere in his pocket and he reaches to retrieve it. If anything, Sebastian’s smile grows wider and she sees it light up his eyes. Before he says it, she already knows- these past four weeks, Sebastian only gets like this when it comes to Blaine.

“Blaine, I presume?” she says as Sebastian returns the phone to his breast pocket, unable to withhold the coldness in her tone.

Sebastian cocks an eyebrow at her, “Yeah, why?”

“Sebastian, you are engaged!” Quinn whispers loud enough for it to convey her irritation but not enough to attract any unwanted attention. At the back of her mind, she wonders if she says it as a reminder for Sebastian, or for herself regarding her own betrothed status.

She glances in Hunter’s direction and isn’t at all surprised that her fiancé barely acknowledges her absence. He never acknowledges her presence, why should her absence make a difference, she bitterly thinks to herself. It is this thought that adds fuel to the flame of irritation and, for reasons she doesn’t quite understand, anger.

“Yeah, Quinn, I know! I was there when my family decided that for me, but thanks for the reminder,” he bites back.

“You have a duty to your family, Bas. To your _fiancé_. Why waste your time with some doxy?” she sneers. She’s half-aware of the words she’s spewing, words that aren’t her own- it sounds very much like what her family would say.

“Don’t call him that!” Sebastian warns, his eyes dark with anger. “What’s gotten into you? You’re the one who’s always saying ‘ _Don’t do anything I wouldn’t_ ’. Isn’t this something you would’ve done, what you would’ve wanted; to be happy for once?”

And there it is-

Quinn realizes that she is jealous.

Jealous of Sebastian’s happiness.

She closes her eyes and wills her body to stop shaking; she doesn’t realize just how much she is shaking until her right hand clasps over her left, fingers automatically fiddling with the Clarington heirloom that sits on her ring-finger- her hands are trembling.

“He isn’t part of our world, Bas,” she states, regurgitating her family’s sentiments when it came to those they deem lower in the social hierarchy. “You and Blaine, nothing more can ever happen beyond this tryst. That’s all this is, Sebastian; a tryst.”

Quinn detects the flare of anger in Sebastian and without a word, her best friend turns and leaves.

Regret crashes over her the moment Sebastian disappears through the crowd. Every nerve in her body pleads with her to run after her best friend but in the moment, she lies to herself; the things that were said, it was for Sebastian’s own good.

But the truth is plain to see- she is scared; scared of being the only one stuck in a life where happiness is a myth, a fantasy. She wants to selfishly cling to Sebastian because whatever ordeal her family puts her through, she knows Sebastian goes through the same things, gets roped into the same situations, and feels the same dread and hurt.

She takes comfort in knowing that there is someone else just like her.

Without Sebastian, Quinn would be alone.

So utterly alone.

 

\---

 

Sebastian trudged noisily up the stairs of Blaine’s walk-up building. He had his driver drop him off after the Clarington brunch but his breathing was ragged, laboured- bursting in short pants, as if he walked all the way from the Upper East Side to the Meatpacking District.

The torrent of emotions raging inside of him made his vision swim; he felt angry, defeated. And he felt foolish. But most of all, he felt helpless.

Sugar had mentioned something about being in love, and being loved in return. For a brief moment, Sebastian allowed himself to believe it.

_Love_ \- it was something trivial to Sebastian up until four weeks ago. He was aware that _love_ wasn’t something anyone would associate him with; he tended to be cold, viciously sharp-tongued and overall, an asshole. He never grew up with the best of examples regarding the notion- he wouldn’t know what to emulate.

But being with Blaine, it felt a lot like what he thought _love_ would be; the thrill of being desired, the comfort of being safeguarded, the tranquillity of knowing it was enough just to _be_. And with Blaine, it all came naturally; a second nature.

More importantly, he _liked_ the person he was with Blaine- someone who was capable of love, someone who was worthy of love.

In the last four weeks, he let himself think this was the life he could lead; no duties as a Smythe, no arranged marriages, just _Sebastian-_ the man, the lover.

But Quinn was right.

She was always right.

How could he be so foolish- thinking that what he and Blaine had was anything more than a tryst? He was just using Blaine for sexual release, just as he was sure Blaine was using him for- _something_ ; everyone always did when they learned he was a Smythe.

Sebastian felt sick at the thought that Blaine was like all the others; the men and women who only gave him the time of day for something in return. The mere thought almost made him keel over as he approached Blaine’s apartment because he felt- _no_ \- he _wanted_ to believe that Blaine was different.

He felt different, too, whenever he was with Blaine; he wasn’t defined by his name or lineage when it was just the two of them- he was his own person who was comfortable in his own skin, who was in charge of his own life.

With Blaine, he felt alive.

Pushing his musings to the deep recesses of his mind, Sebastian banged deafeningly on Blaine’s door. He took big gulps of air into his lungs as he waited, trying to calm his breathing. A moment passed before he heard a faint shuffling on the other side of the door.

Sebastian’s breath hitched when Blaine opened the door; the man who had become a constant presence in his life this past month stood in the doorway- his curls attractively flopping over his forehead, bright smile plastered on his lips and warm honey-coloured eyes looking pleased at finding Sebastian standing there.

“Hey you,” Blaine greeted happily.

Before anything else could happen, Sebastian lunged forward to fiercely capture Blaine’s face with both his hands and crashed their lips together. There was a hunger in the kiss; a hunger to drown out the hurt rampaging inside, a desperation to hang on to the fantasy that he was Blaine’s and Blaine was his.

Just them, in their own world.

Sebastian exerted more force to the kiss and his hold as Blaine tried to struggle out of it.

“Hey,” Blaine gasped in between kisses. “Bas, slow down.”

The plea in Blaine’s voice stilled Sebastian’s movements. He heard so much care in the other man’s tone that it hurt. It hurt to believe that Blaine might actually _care_ for him, because it wasn’t real- at least that was what he told himself.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that, Killer,” Sebastian muttered coldly as he let his hands fall to his side. Instantaneously, Blaine reached out to grab his wrists; so gentle, so loving that Sebastian couldn’t help the contented sigh that escaped his lips.

“Baby, you’re shaking,” Blaine noted, smoothing his thumbs over the veins on his wrists.

He didn’t even realize he was shaking but Sebastian felt his body relax under Blaine’s careful touches, slowing his heart rate and managing the trembles in his bones.

“Talk to me,” Blaine cooed.

Whatever comfort that had enveloped Sebastian was gone in a blink of an eye.

“Don’t do that,” Sebastian barked as he yanked himself away from Blaine, much to the surprise of the other man. “Don’t pretend like this is something more than a fuck,” he gestured between them. “Don’t pretend like you care.”

“Where is this coming from, Sebastian?” Blaine frowned, taking a step closer but stopped when Sebastian backed away.

“We’re from different worlds, Blaine. I’m a Smythe and you- you’re a nobody,” Sebastian yelled. It felt like an out of body experience as he said the words because they weren’t his. He was vaguely repeating what Quinn had said earlier; an echo of what his family drilled into him since he was a boy.

“And yet here you are,” Blaine uttered calmly.

Sebastian was taken aback by how Blaine barely flinched at his words. Although the words weren’t his, he had consciously chosen them with the purpose of hurting, of driving the other man away.

But there Blaine stood- unflinching, steadfast.

“I could have my pick of other cocktail-serving pretty boys to have my way with- at any given time,” Sebastian sneered, although the tremble in his voice barely gave it any bite. “I’m here because you’re convenient.”

Blaine hummed in what he interpreted as agreement, nodding slowly. Sebastian tried his best to stand his ground as the shorter man moved forward to crowd his space.

“I don’t doubt that you can pick up anyone you wanted, Sebastian, but I don’t think you will,” Blaine said with such conviction and warmth that it made Sebastian’s head spin. How could this one man have such an effect on him?

“Why? You think it’s because of you?” Sebastian mocked, trying to look amused. “Please don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffed.

He expected Blaine to physically retaliate- to shove him or to slap him across the face, _anything_ \- but as a pair of hazel eyes bore into his soul, all Blaine did was take Sebastian’s hand and slowly placed it on his chest.

Sebastian wanted to pull his hand away when his palm laid flat over Blaine’s heart, but the steady rhythm of the other man’s heartbeat- the sound that had become his lullaby every night for the past month, held him in place.

“Because-,” Blaine started, “-because I feel... complete when I’m with you, that you are this big part of me now, here,” he whispered, clasping Sebastian’s hand that was over his heart. “Because I feel it in my bones, that no matter what happens, come hell or high water, we’ll be alright. As long as we’re together,” Blaine continued gently, gazing into his eyes with a softness that Sebastian could feel himself melting. “Because I know you feel it, too.”

Sebastian’s heart stuttered at the confession; that was exactly how he felt when he was with Blaine; he felt whole in the arms of the man standing before him, and he felt that he could take on the world with Blaine by his side.

But Quinn’s words still rang loudly in his ears.

And the weight of his family name was making it hard to breathe.

Sebastian found himself at a crossroad; one path was his predestined route- mapped by the ingrained belief that he must fulfil his obligations and uphold the honour of the Smythe name-

And the other path led to Blaine.

How was he to choose?

Feeling overwhelmed, Sebastian reluctantly pulled his hand away from Blaine’s chest- his skin missing the thrum of the other man’s beating heart immediately- and wordlessly turned to walk out the door.

Sebastian practically jogged down the hallway- the raging feelings of confusion and hurt and helplessness returning in full force. An unprecedented anger started to bubble alongside all the other feelings inside him. He hated feeling like this- feeling so lost.

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard his name being called but he kept on going- aware that his momentum was the only thing keeping him together. If he stopped, Sebastian was afraid he would fall to pieces- never to be whole again.

As he reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs, he felt a hard tug on his arm. Without thinking, he whirled around and threw himself against the body that pulled him, pinning it down against the nearest wall with his forearm across its chest.

He forced himself to steady his breathing and blinked away his sudden outburst of rage. When he came back to his senses, he found Blaine looking up at him, breathing raggedly under his hold. Sebastian was surprised when he found no trace of fear or alarm in Blaine’s eyes- only a plea:

_Don’t go_ , it said.

Every fibre of Sebastian’s being ached to stay and spend the rest of his days with this man who possessed the gentlest of hearts- and the bearer of his.

But he was a Smythe and Blaine was a nobody, he indignantly reminded himself. They didn’t- _couldn’t_ \- belong together.

And with a heavy sigh, Sebastian released his grip on Blaine and headed out of the building.

 

\---

 

Sebastian’s body vibrated along with the music resonating throughout the club. The fog in his mind was getting thicker with every shot he downed, chasing down the Patrón with gulps of beer. He wasn’t here to forget; he was here because he had something to prove. To whom, he wasn’t quite sure.

The hours between leaving Blaine’s apartment and ending up at the club were a blur. He vaguely remembered going home to change, but he doesn’t remember the car ride to the club or the time of day that had been.

It didn’t matter. He was here now.

And he was here to have his pick of any pretty boy he wanted.

He spots a candidate dancing to the side of the dance floor, eyes fixed on Sebastian. The man was tall with sandy-blond hair and a lust in his eyes that was alluring.

With a final swig of his drink, Sebastian pushed himself away from the bar and headed straight for the mystery man.

The bass thumped in his ears and in his chest as he draped his arms around the nameless man and danced with fervour- finding a give-and-take movement in their hips. The alcohol coursing through his veins made Sebastian feel light- and light, he thought, was a good thing. He didn’t need the added weight of _Blaine_ on top of the one he already carried for being a Smythe.

Sebastian felt good, but he wanted to feel better. It was then that he found himself pushing his tongue into the mystery man’s mouth, licking into it in earnest. Moments passed of trading dirty kisses before he was being dragged purposefully across the dance floor in the direction of the restrooms.

Before the door to the bathroom stall could properly shut, Sebastian was already launching himself at the other man. He was frantically entangling his fingers in the man’s hair and nipping at his lips; the other’s reciprocation of his desires had him hard really quickly.

Sebastian fisted at the man’s shirt before working his hands down to palm the other’s crotch eagerly.

“Whoa, easy there, Romeo,” the man smirked, pushing his hands away. “Let me take care of you first,” he said as he sank to his knees in front of Sebastian.

At the sound of the nickname, Sebastian sobered up almost instantly.

His synapses rapidly connected the Shakespearean endearment to the thought of his mother and he was reminded of how Shakespeare’s words were his mother’s go-to quotes when flaunting her impressive literary range.

Then, it reminded him of how the Smythe matriarch chased the fantasy of love by residing in a fictitious world of her own making; who lived through fictional characters and poetic words of others just to experience love.

An _idea_ of love; that was all she had, Sebastian noted; nothing like the real thing he had experienced.

In that moment, he realized that _yes –_ he had real love; what he shared with Blaine was _real_.

And he was certain Blaine felt the same way.

Why else would Blaine have stood by him so devotedly even when he was trying to drive the other man away?

Why else would Blaine run after him when he was eager to put as much distance as he could between them?

Blaine loved him, of this he was sure.

And there wasn’t a doubt that he was in love with Blaine.

So why was he here in a filthy bathroom stall with a nameless stranger in between his legs, drunkenly struggling to undo the button of his pants?

A profound sense of clarity cut through the alcohol-fuelled haze in his mind and suddenly, all he could think of was Blaine.

“I have to go,” Sebastian blurted as he bolted out the stall, leaving the stranger on his knees and muttering profanities his way.

Once outside of the club, Sebastian’s feet took him in the direction of the Meatpacking District. He felt the crisp breeze of the wee hours sober him up more as he decided that he wasn’t going to let his family dictate his life anymore, because a life without Blaine wouldn’t be living at all.

He would just... exist.

And he decided that he wasn’t about to throw away the one real thing in his life because of his family name.

Channelling his mother’s affinity for Shakespearean quotes, he quietly thought:

_What’s in a name?_

 

\---

 

The walk to Blaine’s took longer than Sebastian expected, but it was worth it. Every step he took only strengthened his resolve that he wanted to be with Blaine, wanted to be rid of a life where he was betrothed to marry a woman he didn’t love, wanted to be free to make his own choices- his own mistakes.

He climbed the familiar steps of Blaine’s apartment building, recalling the fact that his earlier visit no more than twenty-fours ago wasn’t a happy one.

The memory made Sebastian nervous; what right did he have to be here after all that he said and did to Blaine? Why would Blaine- or anyone- take him back after that?

Sebastian resolved to take a chance; he would risk having the door slammed in his face if it meant that he could finally be honest about his feelings to Blaine. Slowly, he raised his hand to rap his knuckles on the wooden door- his knocks urgent but quiet.

It took repeated knocks before he heard a familiar shuffling on the other side. After a moment, the door cracked open slightly, with Blaine peeking through.

“Sebastian?” Blaine whispered, his voice heavy with sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian exclaimed.

Before he knew it, tears were cascading down his face and he was trembling all over.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

Through his blurry vision, Sebastian saw Blaine move. He was half-expecting the other man to shut the door on him, but Blaine only opened it wider.

Without a word, Blaine walked forward and pulled him into an embrace; Sebastian all but melted in those arms. And in those arms, he felt himself slowly becoming whole again, coming to life- not a Smythe, just a man.

This was where he belonged.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian breathed again and again against the curls of the man he loved.

He held on to Blaine like he was afraid the shorter man might slip away if he ever let go.

And as if he heard Sebastian’s thoughts, Blaine whispered an assuring “I’m here, Sebastian. I’m not going anywhere- come hell or high water.”

 

\---

 

The whirring of movements in the restaurant was deafening- from the quiet scrapes of cutleries on plates to the clinking of cups settling in their saucers- as Sebastian sat opposite Sugar Motta, patiently waiting for her response.

Two days ago, Sebastian decided that he was going to commit to a path of his choosing; no more arranged marriages, no more pleasing the family by keeping his sexuality a secret, no more living _for_ his family.

He was going to tell his family soon but Sebastian felt he owed Sugar an explanation first before anyone else. She needed to be the first to know that he wouldn’t be going through with their pending nuptials and that he was unwaveringly and unequivocally in love with Blaine Anderson.

The seconds trickled into minutes and Sugar still hadn’t said a word. Sebastian busied himself nervously with the salt and pepper shakers in a makeshift game of chess on the table. After what felt like an eternity, Sugar broke the silence with her quiet laughter.

“This might be the best day of my life,” she exclaimed with a relieved sigh. “No offense,” she added quickly when Sebastian arched his brow in question. “If I’m being honest with myself, I am not ready to get married- to anyone, even if I _was_ in love.”

And Sebastian understood it wholeheartedly.

In their brief courtship, Sugar regularly mentioned how she wanted to learn everything there was to know about the advertising business. She didn’t want to _inherit_ the Motta company- she wanted to _earn_ it. To do that, Sugar said she wanted to work her way up, even if it meant starting in the mailroom. She was committed to that- and the last thing she needed was to be tied down in a marriage; especially one she didn’t choose.

“I really am sorry, Sugar,” Sebastian offered, not knowing what else to say.

“For what, Sebastian?” Sugar asked, the genuine curiosity obvious in her tone.

In all honesty, Sebastian didn’t really know what he was apologizing for. For the first time, he was taking control of his own life, making his own decisions. And for the first time in his life, he was in love. Those didn’t seem like something anyone should apologize for, but for some reason, he felt he needed to; not only would his decisions have consequences with his family, but they would also affect Sugar.

“I’m sorry that you’re the collateral of _my_ choices.”

“Don’t be,” Sugar offered, playfully dismissing Sebastian’s concerns. “I’m a big girl, Sebastian. I can handle my family,” she said firmly.

If ever Sebastian doubted Sugar could hold her own when it came to the Motta family, he didn’t now. He shamefully realized that he, like Sugar’s mother, never gave her the credit she so deserved.

“What you’re doing, it’s crazy,” she admitted, gesturing wildly with her hands before she continued, “But it’s a good kind of crazy, you know?”

A wave of gratitude crashed over Sebastian; relieved that Sugar was taking the news way better than he had expected. More importantly, he was grateful for her enthusiasm, her support.

At that moment, the maitre d’ stepped up to their table with a menu of assorted English tea sandwiches and desserts, but Sugar politely waved him away. Sebastian looked at his once fiancé quizzically as she fiddled with her left hand; she was removing her engagement ring- the one he presented to her in such a business-like fashion that there was absolutely nothing romantic about it.

He gently placed the ring in the palm of her hand after Sugar slid it across the table to return it to him.

“Keep it,” Sebastian smirked. “Think of it as something to remember me by.”

But Sugar only pushed the ring back into his palm, pushing his fingers to close around it as she shook her head.

“There are other wonderful things I will remember you by, Sebastian Smythe,” she chuckled, the fondness flitting in her voice. “You’re one of the only people who treated me with respect, who actually listened to what I have to say,” Sugar declared, holding his gaze. “If all of this had played out differently, I would be perfectly okay being married to you. At the very least we wouldn’t hate each other- at least we’d be friends.”

“We _are_ friends,” Sebastian corrected her with a smile.

Sugar returned the gesture with the roll of her eyes- something Sebastian noticed she did whenever a situation was about to get overly sentimental.

The moment Sugar raised herself from her seat, Sebastian did the same; prompted automatically by his sense of chivalry. She rounded the table to close the distance between them. When she was standing right in front of him, Sugar raised herself on tiptoes- her four-inch heeled Louboutins not nearly enough to equalize their height difference- and brushed her lips on Sebastian’s cheek.

Sebastian and Sugar never shared a bed together, never so much as hugged when they were together, but that peck on the cheek was one of the most intimate gestures they ever shared. He felt a pleasant warmth when their skins touched; a promise of ‘ _I am here, my friend, if you ever need me_.’

“Don’t be a stranger,” Sugar exclaimed as she sank back on her heels. With a smile on her pink-tinted lips, Sebastian watched her turn and made her way out of the restaurant with what he noted to be a newfound lightness in her step and a readiness to take on the world.

When they first met, Sugar was girl who was obedient to a fault. Now, she was a woman coming into her own.

“Look out, Manhattan,” Sebastian whispered fondly under his breath. “She’s a-coming.”

 

\---

 

Friday afternoon, Quinn Fabray finds herself in a committee meeting for an upcoming wine tasting function at the Smythe’s penthouse- her facial muscles tired from the staged smile she plasters in the presence of some of the most influential women of the Upper East Side.

It has been five days since she last spoke to Sebastian and their last conversation still lingers in her mind. She hates fighting with Sebastian, but her stubbornness hinders her from being the first to pick up the phone and apologize although she isn’t sure she has anything to apologize for. But she misses her best friend and that alone seems reason enough to cave and call him, no matter who is at fault.

A ding of the elevator steals Quinn’s attention from the list of Merlot and Voignier. When the doors open, Sebastian steps into the room, as if conjured by Quinn’s thoughts. He is closely followed by another man; a compact-built, curly-haired man she recognizes from the night of the Smythe’s cancer awareness banquet. _Blaine_ , she surmises.

The murmurs of the ladies in the room die down as Sebastian stroll past them, throwing a slight nod of greeting in their direction. Her blue eyes catch his green ones for a brief moment and she sees a mixture of determination and anxiety in them.

There is vulnerability in those green eyes, too- something she is sure she’s never seen before. Growing up in the world of the Upper East Side, they are both groomed to always keep their emotions in check. And they wear their guardedness as a second skin; there isn’t room to be vulnerable.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Smythe chimes as she rises from her seat, passing the floor to Giulia Motta to continue the meeting.

Quinn focuses on Sebastian’s form and reads his every move; the purposeful strides, the tenseness in his shoulders. Those are Sebastian’s tells when he is about to do something vital, something urgent. Her readings are proven true when Sebastian heads towards his father’s study with Blaine by his side and Mrs. Smythe following closely; her best friend usually stayed away from the room like it was the plague. He only braves it when it concerns something truly important.

Which begs the question, Quinn thinks inwardly, what is that important situation now?

Slowly, she puts away the list of wines she is holding and excuses herself; in need of a trip to the powder room, she says.

Quinn weaves her way through the house with ease, taking a different route towards the Smythe study as to avoid the prying eyes of the women gathered in the living room. She stops at the corner of the hall, a little way away from the study but near enough to catch some of the words that seep through the thin walls and the wooden sliding doors.

After a few minutes, Quinn finds herself holding her breath to minimize any other sound than those coming from the study. She then hears the words “Smythe legacy” and “throwing your life away” and “unacceptable”. Her heart thuds loudly in her chest as she wonders, “What is Sebastian doing?”

She picks up Sebastian’s voice laden with what she deems as desperation and then there is the booming voice of the elder Smythe, clearly furious. Even through the wall, Quinn feels the intensity of their exchange.

Minutes tick away and Quinn is sure she might pass out from the suspense when suddenly the elder Smythe’s voice rumbles in a guttural roar, “If you walk out of this house with him, you don’t even think about coming back, you hear me?”

She hears the groan of the doors sliding open a few moments later, followed by muffled footsteps heading down the hall towards her. Quinn flattens herself against the wall around the corner, torn between fleeing back to the living room and staying put.

“Sebastian!” she hears Mrs. Smythe call out, her voice freezing Quinn in place.

*

Sebastian’s chest hurt from his frantically beating heart and the words his father had speared through him. He never expected his family to be okay with his choice to end his engagement with Sugar Motta, he never even dreamed that they would welcome him and Blaine with open arms- but he never once thought his father would renounce him as a son, as a _person_ , so easily. It broke Sebastian’s heart that the one thing the elder Smythe kept lamenting was the loss of a business deal and not of a son.

But it didn’t matter.

Nothing else mattered now.

He chose his own path- a path with Blaine- and he was sticking to it.

_Come hell or high water_ , Blaine’s words echoed in his mind.

Sebastian felt Blaine slip a hand in his, their fingers laced together instinctively as they walked hand in hand down the hall.

“Sebastian!” his mother called out before they reached the corner that led to the living room.

He turned slowly to face his mother, his hand clutching Blaine’s to keep him grounded. Blaine gave it a gentle squeeze and his heart rate automatically eased its rhythm into something calmer, more controlled; Blaine always made him feel safe.

“Darling, please. Don’t go,” Mrs. Smythe pleaded. “You have the world at your feet. If you walk out that door, it will all disappear. You will be cut off from this family, from _everything_.”

“I have everything I’ll ever need right here,” Sebastian countered, turning to look at Blaine- who smiled up at him in the most loving manner.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother cringe at their affection. Sebastian held Blaine’s gaze a moment longer before finding his mother’s green eyes.

“This is the life I choose, Mom,” he declared steadfastly, his chest puffed with pride.

“ _Nothing destroys spirit like poverty_ ,” his mother argued dejectedly, using the quote like a weapon to win her case.

It didn’t come as a surprise to him that his family would make it about money, about social standings. But it was never about any of those things for Sebastian.

It was about free will.

It was about love.

Sebastian realized in that moment, that no matter what he said, no matter how he argued, his mother would never be able to comprehend the gravity of his decisions, his choices.

But he needed to try.

She was his mother, after all and Sebastian knew she loved him- in her own unconventional way.

And he loved her with all his heart.

He just needed to _find_ a way to make her understand; he needed to speak her language.

“ _Who, being loved, is poor_?” Sebastian recited.

Silence fell between them as Mrs. Smythe’s eyes grew wide with shock. Sebastian saw her jaw slacken slightly and her lips formed a surprised-O, but he knew it wasn’t due to his quoting Oscar Wilde.

It was because finally- _finally_ , it registered.

_Finally_ , she understood.

There wasn’t a fictional character his mother admired more than Hester Worsley; her cleverness, her optimism and most importantly, her tenacity to love beyond the social class. Sebastian’s choice of quote was apt, impactful.

Mrs. Smythe looked at Blaine as if she was seeing him for the first time. She offered him a small smile before looking back at Sebastian. Slowly, she took a step closer to her only son and raised a hand to cup the side of his face.

Sebastian’s heart swelled at the touch and reached for his mother’s hand gently to brush his lips on her palm. Her eyes were glossy with tears but there was a warm smile curled at the sides of her mouth.

Then, all too soon, Mrs. Smythe took a step back. Nodding slightly at both Sebastian and Blaine, she wordlessly turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall.

*

At the sound of Mrs. Smythe retreating in the opposite direction, Quinn peels herself away from the wall and winds her way back to the living room. It is only after she settles in her seat she is aware of the tears in her eyes.

Her best friend is defying everything he- no- _they_ have been taught; the importance of their family name, their destinies to propel their family’s standings in society- _everything_ , all for the sake of his personal happiness, of love.

And for the first time in her life, Quinn feels the blossom of hope that the happiness she so desperately craves is not such a myth after all.

 

\---

 

The late evening sun streams down on Quinn Fabray, her blond hair turning into a golden shimmer as the rays caress her locks. Her heels click off the pavement of the Meatpacking District to the synchronized beat of her thumping heart.

She climbs the steps of an unfamiliar walk-up building with a piece of paper clutched in her hand; a name and an address scrawled messily over it. She stops in front of the door whose number coincides with the one on the paper and raps her knuckles hard against the wood.

Quinn nervously waits in the hallway, glancing down the hall as she hears feet shuffling around on the other side of the door. The moment it opens, she pushes through without being invited; her words tumble fast past her red-painted lips.

“I can’t do it. I can’t marry Hunter. I can’t. I just can’t,” she cries.

Quinn quickly takes in the room around her; it isn’t so much a room rather than it was the entire apartment; small and boxy where the kitchen and the living room and the bedroom all bleed into one space. There are only two doors in the unit; the one that leads in and out of the apartment and the one that separates the bathroom. The place looks like a crime-scene-waiting-to-happen out of a television show but that is just the prejudice of her Upper East Side upbringing talking.

“Quinn, slow down,” a surprised Sebastian says.

Her eyes rake over Sebastian’s form; he is dressed in a white undershirt and black slacks- a piece of fabric she deduces as an apron rolled up and stuffed into his back pocket. He most likely just got off work from the diner, she thinks, as she recalls one of the few phone calls they shared since his falling out with the Smythes where Sebastian had mentioned his new job.

Quinn closes her eyes and takes lungful of deep breaths. When she feels herself calming down, she opens her eyes again, immediately finding concerned green ones staring at her.

“I can’t, Bas. I don’t love him,” she whispers. “I want to, I swear. But I- I just don’t.”

Without a word, Sebastian envelopes his long arms around her and the warmth of him undoes the dam of emotions she so carefully holds up with fake smiles and pretend-sunny dispositions. There, in the arms of her best friend- the one she trusts with her life, she lets herself cry.

When Sebastian walked away from his perfectly mapped out life in pursuit of a happier, more fulfilling one a month ago, it shook Quinn to the core. Before then, she never knew she had such a choice, never knew it was possible. She was raised to believe her sole purpose was to do exactly as she was told by her family, including marrying a man she hardly even liked.

Sebastian’s defiance opened her eyes to the fact that her life was _hers_ and she deserved to be happy by her own terms.

After her sobs calm into sniffles, Quinn pulls back from Sebastian’s embrace but his protective arms still drape loosely around her waist.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian inquires, his green eyes glinting with concern.

Quinn nods as she laughs quietly. “I am now,” she answers, wiping her tears as best as she can without smudging her mascara.

Sebastian moves his hand to stroke her back soothingly, and the comfort it gives prompts her to tell all that is toiling in her heart.

“I met someone,” Quinn beams as she walks to the battered couch that lined one side of the room. “Someone so tremendously wonderful.”

“Okay. Wanna tell me about him?” Sebastian prompts gently as he sinks on the couch beside her.

Quinn fiddles with the hem of her dress and takes three deep breaths.

“It was the day after the charity banquet, the one where you met Blaine...” she starts and delves into all that unfolded from then on.

\---

_Quinn was painting near the Bethesda Fountain when the unpredictable New York City weather turned on her; without warning, it started to pour._

_She was scrambling to screw the caps on her paint bottles whilst shielding the canvas she had been working on from the pelting rain when a charming man with golden blond hair and the gentlest blue eyes scurried by her side to help her pack the supplies and fold the easel._

_Once they were done, they bolted for shelter under the tunnels of the Bethesda Terrace Arcade._

_“I’m Sam, Sam I am,” the kind stranger introduced himself, settling Quinn’s art box and easel down._

_Quinn couldn’t keep the torrent of giggles tumbling from her lips at the man’s corniness; there was a kind of charm to it, too, and she liked that._

_“Quinn,” she offered as she shook of the rain off her clothes, her eyes scanning the beautiful encaustic tiles of the arcade. When she looked back at Sam, a deep blush crept along his cheeks._

_“What?” she asked, a shy smile settling on her lips._

_“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled. “I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just... I... You’re really beautiful.”_

_Quinn was used to compliments- those in the elite circle of the Upper East Side would give it constantly, but she blushed and preened under Sam’s because it was the first time she heard it said with such sincerity._

_“And your painting-,” Sam averted his eyes shyly down to the canvas she had propped up by the side of the wall. “-it’s gorgeous. You’re really talented.”_

_The heat creeping up her neck and her cheeks made Quinn giggle even more. And it was the first time in a long time she felt... appreciated._

_“Thank you,” she responded shyly before pointing to the hardshell guitar case strapped to Sam’s back, “I see you’re a musician.”_

_“Yeah, I busk for a living. In between trying to make it big with my songs...” he muttered with a hint of self-deprecation in his tone._

_Quinn smoothed her hands down the back of her dress and settled herself on the large wooden art box that housed her painting supplies. “Would you play something for me?” she asked bashfully._

_Sam smiled the most charming smile that stuttered her heart before settling the guitar case down. He sat on the case opposite of Quinn after taking out a handsome acoustic guitar that she reckoned had seen some great musical adventures with its owner._

_With a song, a relationship blossomed._

_Quinn and Sam fell hard for each other very quickly. And they fell into bed soon after._

_The weekend of the Clarington brunch, Quinn had told Sam she couldn’t see him anymore, that the past three and a half weeks were just for fun, that he meant nothing more than a hook-up._

_Sam begged her to stay because he was in love and he was sure that she felt the same._

_“I love you, Quinn Fabray,” he said, his voice quivering. “And I know you love me, too. I can feel it when you kiss me. I feel it in the way you touch me. And I hear it in the way you whisper my name.”_

_“I’m engaged!” Quinn blurted as if that was explanation enough. “You and I, nothing more can ever happen beyond this tryst. That’s all this is, Sam; a tryst.”_

_Choking back her own tears, Quinn walked out the door of Sam’s loft and never looked back._

\---

 

“I never got a chance to apologize to you- about what I said that day at the brunch,” Quinn stammered nervously after she finished recounting her love affair with Sam.

Sebastian barked out a laugh at the memory; it felt like a lifetime ago. “That’s in the past. Everything’s good now.”

“I really didn’t mean to take out my frustrations on you... and Blaine,” she whispered. “I was just so overwhelmed with everything that was going on with Sam and I wanted to be in love with Hunter so badly...” Quinn trailed off.

“I know, sweetie. I know,” Sebastian cooed. He knew all too well the internal conflict Quinn was going through. He had gone through something similar once when he was still engaged to Sugar Motta.

Sebastian took a moment to look at Quinn; from the nervous trembles of her slender fingers where the Clarington heirloom sat like a cuff that restricted her happiness, to the tear tracks that stained her dazzling face.

“I just... feel helpless. I don’t know what to do,” she sighed, dejected.

“Listen, Quinn,” Sebastian started, tucking his long legs beneath him as he faced his best friend. “I won’t tell you want to do. We both know we have enough of that to last us for _at least_ two lifetimes.”

Quinn chuckled behind her hand at the statement and the sound of it made him realize just how much he missed having her around; to confide in, to just _be_ with.

“Life is full of uncertainties- no matter where you choose to live it; be it in the Upper East Side or down here in a dodgy corner of the Meatpacking District,” Sebastian mused.

Quinn held his gaze as she devoured Sebastian’s words, her fingers fidgeting around her engagement ring.

“All those uncertainties, it is terrifying,” he confessed softly, allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of his best friend. “But the best that you can do is to take things one day at a time. And everything is ten times better when you get to brave those uncertainties with someone you love more than words could possibly describe,” Sebastian exclaimed, reaching out to brush Quinn’s hair behind her ear before asking, “If you asked yourself, could Sam be that one you’d want to brave those uncertainties with?”

Quinn closed her eyes and took deep breath. Sebastian saw a smile start to curl at the corners of her lips before she opened her eyes. When she finally did, he saw her answer before she even uttered it.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Sebastian smirked at his best friend as he gently tapped her nose once, twice.

“Well, then, this much I know, Quinn Farbray. As long as you’re together, you’ll be alright- come hell or high water.”

 

\---

 

The wailing sirens pierce the silence of the night, waking Quinn from a rather relaxing slumber. She sits up in bed and reacquaints herself with her surroundings. Slowly, the haziness of sleep disappears and she remembers asking Sebastian if she could spend the night, not wanting to face her family yet.

She pushes herself off the bed to walk the short distance to the kitchen for a glass of water. She passes the couch where Blaine and Sebastian lie tangled in each other, having insisted that Quinn should sleep in their bed.

Blaine’s body is curled half on top of Sebastian’s while his boyfriend encircles his arms around the shorter man. Quinn thinks the position can’t be too comfortable, what with Sebastian’s long legs protruding over the edge of the couch and the couch itself being a little too small to accommodate two grown men- but she has never seen two people so at peace.

She takes in the apartment again; if Quinn initially sees it as dingy and slightly run-down, she now sees it for what it truly is: a home.

In the morning, Blaine whips up a batch of delicious omelettes as he profusely apologizes for the lack of variety at the breakfast table; eggs are all they had left in the fridge. She, in turn, profusely tries to convince him that she doesn’t mind in the slightest and that the omelette is simply divine. It really moves her to know that Blaine and Sebastian didn’t have much yet they didn’t hesitate to share the little they had with her.

Quinn watches the two of them from the tiny dining table as they stand next to each other by the sink; one scrubbing the dishes with soap while the other rinses it- Blaine’s shoulder always touching Sebastian’s arm as they steal glances and quick kisses while completing the chore. As she drains the last of her coffee, Quinn notes that she has never seen any two people happier and more in love than Sebastian Smythe and Blaine Anderson.

She bids her farewell as Blaine and Sebastian make their way to their respective jobs- the sight of them walking down the street ahead of her hand in hand fills her heart with delight. It gives her hope that happiness is attainable, that it’s not a myth as she once believed.

As her best friend and his boyfriend disappear around the corner towards the nearby subway station, Quinn trudges onwards, letting her feet follow her heart down the path that leads straight to Sam Evans.

 

\---

 

Sebastian stumbled out of the bathroom after a quick shower to cleanse himself of the grime from working another double shift washing dishes and taking out the garbage at the 24-hour diner. He was still dripping wet when he collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to get dressed.

Sleep was about to take him under when he felt Blaine stir, curling around his back.

“Hey you,” Blaine breathed behind his ear, the warmth of his breath washing away some of the fatigue. “Welcome home.”

Sebastian hummed his contentment as he turned to face his boyfriend.

“Hey,” he greeted the hazel- eyed man in his arms. “I missed you.”

“Me too, baby. Sleep. You must be exhausted,” Blaine coaxed, pulling him closer and pecking light kisses on Sebastian’s shoulder.

“I can’t feel my feet. Remind me again why I’m working at that diner,” Sebastian whined in a joking manner, his eyes closed as he braces for sleep to take him under again. He used to be an excellent accountant but after his father prevented most of the accounting firms in Manhattan from hiring him (something he was sure the elder Smythe did out of spite), the job at the diner was his only option for now. But he didn’t mind it at all.

“Any regrets?” Blaine asked, the underlying insecurity laced loudly in his question.

Sebastian opened his eyes to find his boyfriend’s. Even in the darkness he could see the gravity of the inquiry:

_Do you regret leaving the comforts of your previous life?_

_Do you regret this new life?_

_Do you regret loving me?_

With whatever energy he had left, Sebastian pushed Blaine onto his back and moulded his naked body on top of the shorter man’s, pressing their lips together ardently.

“None,” he breathed as they pulled apart, holding his boyfriend’s gaze.

Blaine smiled up at him for a moment before his breath hitched when Sebastian rolled his hips and grinded down against his boyfriend- the friction hardening them both almost instantaneously.

“I love you,” Sebastian whispered huskily. “Let me show you how much.”

 

\---

 

The sky outside lightens with the dawning of a new day, slowly shifting the darkness of the room into a soft, bluish glow. The sheets rustle quietly as Quinn is pulled closer into her husband’s chest.

“Well, then-,” Sam whispers when she’s finally done recounting her best friend’s love story and how his choices indirectly guided her to the path that led to her happiness. “- this is the life you’ve chosen- _we’ve_ chosen and I swear to you that I will never give you a reason to regret it. And every day, I will be the man that you deserve,” he avows.

Quinn smiles into Sam’s skin as her thumb instinctively fiddles with the wedding band that encircles her finger perfectly; the weight of it an anchor to Sam, to their lives together- unlike the burdening weight of the Clarington heirloom.

She lifts her head to peer up at the man she loves, gazing into the gentlest blue eyes. She pecks his lips lightly and promises with all her heart, “As long as we’re together, baby- we’ll be alright. Come hell or high water.”

 

\---END.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Comments welcomed.


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